


He Blushed Softly In The Moonlight...

by bluemedic



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anxious Medic, Gay, Good Medic, M/M, Medic is super antisocial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 07:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemedic/pseuds/bluemedic
Summary: The RED Team’s Medic starts to wonder if he will ever be of use to his team, or will ever find love...





	1. Questions Arise

         It had been a while since the RED team had taken the lead. Medic was proud of his teammates, truly, but felt at a loss slightly. After each battle, whether won or lost, they always could go back to someone and just….regain joy. Feel love. All of his friends had someone, yet he was all alone. His last relationship was over 15 years ago, and it only lasted a little under two years. He had since continuously pushed himself into his medical studies, as well as caring for his many doves.  
  
  
         Medic sighed and stretched. He decided he’d better get in a quick meal before he retires to his room for the evening. He walked towards the kitchen-area they had and silently prayed nobody was around. It was only 5:35 in the afternoon, aka the perfect time to not socialize in the Medic’s opinion. He eventually saw that the spacious kitchen was filled with his teammates, whom of which were avidly chatting amongst themselves. He sighed dejectedly, as his plan of being indiscreet just shattered before his eyes. Unlike the BLU Medic, the RED Medic had much more anxiety, though similarly they both tried to keep it bottled underneath and have a false “tough guy” exterior. It made it easier to be taken seriously by the lot of men who either had too much sarcasm, too much spite, or too much stupidity. He decided to quickly make himself dinner, then take it back to his room and read. Suddenly, he froze. He felt a large hand on his shoulder.  
  
  
  
         Medic turned and saw Heavy greeting him with a warm smile. “Good evening, Doktor!” He said cheerfully. Medic cracked a small smile and greeted him back. “Greetings, Misha—“ He trailed off when he noticed the large man was holding two plates.  
  
“Vhat is zhat you got zhere?” He asked, a quizzical expression painting his features suddenly. Heavy beamed and handed Medic a plate.  
  
“I make Doktor sandvich because Doktor was frozen in place for long time. I hope Doktor enjoys secret sandvich recipe. I only give to those trusted.” Medic stared at the plate now in his hand, a perfectly cut triangular sandwich with an olive stabbed through a toothpick on top resting daintily on the white glass. Medic was usually ignored by most of his team unless they needed something from him, usually health-related. This was huge to him. Someone was actually being NICE to him for once, and they didn’t want anything in return! Or...did he…?  
  
“Vhat iz it you vant from me, Heavy?” Medic asked softly, still staring at the small gift. Heavy made a perplexed face and tried to grasp the right words to explain himself. English wasn’t his first language, after all.  
  
“нет, I wanted to make Doktor sandvich because Doktor seem busy with personal problems.” He finally stated matter-o-factly. This answer was unsatisfactory to the German.  
  
“But...no one ever—“ He started. Heavy shushed him.  
  
“Just take sandvich and eat it. It specially made for you.”  
“Heavy, I…”  
“да?”  
“Thank you…”  
“Is no problem, Doktor. Take care of self, да? If need friend, Heavy always here for Doktor. Have good night!”  
  
        The tall Russian walked off carrying his own dinner as Medic was now staring after him walking off. Medic was so confused. This had never happened before. Was he always so dazed? So distracted? Was anyone else besides Heavy actually concerned? He decided on no, no one else cared. But why now of all times? Was he acting that noticeably different? ‘Vell, I am getting older...I suppose maybe that iz it?’ He thought to himself. He shrugged and decided to contemplate this while eating the gifted dinner in his room. Alone. It was better for thinking, anyways.  
  
  
       Medic placed the half-eaten sandwich on his desk and sat down, placing his glasses down next to his dinner. He buried his face in his hands and ran his hands through his graying hair. He wanted to understand why now TWO people were being nicer than usual. The first was Heavy with the dinner, and now it was that Texan stranger only known to him as Engineer. He didn’t recall if he was ever told the man’s actual name, only recalled Heavy’s and that was all. He only knew because he was told on day one when they all joined the team together. He decided he would finish up and try to sleep. He grabbed a random book from his small assortment that lay on his desk and tossed it carelessly onto his bed.  
  
  
       He would try to distract himself if he was unable to sleep. He knew in the back of his brain that he wouldn’t be able to, so why not make it easier on himself. The medical professional finished the last of the sandwich and changed into his bed clothes, which consisted of an old graphic t-shirt with a faded German logo on it and his boxers. He had gotten the shirt ages ago when he was in medical school as a young adult. He was now way past that, and just thinking about the origin of the shirt made him feel old. He hated feeling old. Being old meant that he’d never marry a handsome m- ‘Vhat….?’ He confused himself. “Oh mein Gott….’ He thought to himself, shocked that was even a possibility still. He thought he buried his homosexual tendencies in high school...But alas, he supposed, he did not do a good enough job.  
  
  
       The German man decided that thinking was getting him nowhere, and he would instead just read until he fell asleep. ‘Okay...chapter eins….’ He flipped to chapter one of his book. It was his favorite book, his German medical pocketbook. He thought he had kept it in his coat, still, but no. It was apparently on his desk. How hadn’t he noticed the lack of small weight in his pocket? Oh well. He was determined to read at least to chapter three and then fall asleep… ...That didn’t happen. Medic drifted off to sleep by the time he got to the middle of chapter two.  
  
  
His dream that night was a rather peculiar one. It was stylized as an old advertisement would be with the hazy filter over the people. He was wearing a casual outfit and there was a cat by his feet as he wrote on his desk. He straightened his glasses and called out for someone. Suddenly, a large shadow entered the room. The words this shadow spoke were...rather muffled. But the voice itself was deep and rumbled a bit. It brought dream-Medic comfort, as he softened when the figure joined him in what was assumed to be the Medic’s office. It looked like he was...grading children’s school papers? Was this for a science class or something? Or maybe history? Dream-Medic looked up at the shadow and kissed them. As soon as his lips touched theirs, the black shadow melted off the figure like some form of black ink subsiding from a broken pen. As soon as the darkness fell away, the person underneath the shadow made the real Medic jolt up and yelp a name.  
  
  
  
“ _Heavy_!”


	2. Desperate Doodling

         Medic quietly felt his pulse on his neck. His heart was racing. He decided that in the morning, he try to figure out why these bizarre thoughts were suddenly treating him in his slumber. ‘ _Then again_ ’, he reasoned to himself half-heartedly, ‘ _dreams are the gateway to the sub and unconsciousness…’_ Perhaps he was overthinking the kind gesture from earlier? Bah, that was stupid….or was it? Medic felt he was practically going insane from the questioned that arose. But one thing was constant. The thought of Heavy. Heavy was the one constant thing all these sporadic conceptualizations. He couldn’t erase the Russian from them. He was the core. The root. No, not him. Medic’s feelings for Heavy were the root of it.   
  
  
         Medic didn’t know, however, that he’d been unknowingly crushing on the tall individual. He needed to get ahold of himself! He sighed and got out of bed. He decided it’d be best to sketch for a bit. Something the other teammates didn’t know was Medic was actually a pretty good artist. Occasionally, when he was ill and on the sidelines, he’d sketch his teammates in action in a small leather sketchbook he kept in one of his many coat pockets. The most prevalent doodle of the bunch was a portrait of Heavy running while carrying an injured Scout on his shoulder, Scout clearly dazed. Medic recalled the incident like it had just occurred recently. That was because, funnily enough, it happened just two weeks ago. Scout was still in and out of the infirmary for check _ups._  
  
 _“Are you sure that you aren’t well enough to go out there, Doc?” Engineer asked quietly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t vant to contaminate anybody. It vould be vorse if I vent out there and got all of you sick! Don’t you have a tool to help them?” Engineer nodded and pulled out a small medigun with robotic legs attached. He set it down and it scuttled around. “How does it vork?” Medic inquired. Engineer smiled and explained in great detail how the robot sensed body heat and would scan the wounded person and see if they matched an identification it had programmed into it. Then, it would scan the wound and heal it. Medic frowned, feeling slightly useless now that there was this machine that could easily take his place. Surely it would be better than a lanky German buffoon running around willy-nilly struggling to keep up with the other men! But Engineer reassured Medic that it would only be able to heal specific types of injuries, not all. That he did this so that Medic could still help around. Medic smiled at the sentiment and sat down behind a large rock. The other team knew that he wasn’t participating in this, and agreed to not shoot at him or around him. At least they respected that. He sighed and pulled out his book. He ran his fingers across the leather covering before cracking the old book open. He then pulled out his small wooden pencil and started doodling random still-like portraits of landmarks and other various objects._  
  
 _Then, Heavy ran past him. It was like the world set it up perfectly for Medic. It was like it was playing out in slow motion so Medic could capture every fold of the man’s shirt, every bead of sweat dripping from his furrowed brows. He noticed an unconscious Scout dangling off his shoulder, bleeding from his forehead. Heavy looked determined to get to the bot that was stationed nearby. Medic quickly copied down everything, from the landscape resting behind the two men to the determined shine in Heavy’s eyes. Everything was perfectly transcribed onto Medic’s yellowing paper of his small sketchbook. He decided that was the most in-depth picture he had ever drawn. He hadn’t known what had come over him, but he just felt, in that moment, compelled to just...draw… He decided to just mindlessly doodle some more. He got a good doodle of Sniper shooting his gun, and tried to shade it, but accidentally smudged the shading along the man’s shirt. He decided, then, to try to draw something else._  
  
 _After a while of doodling, he decided to go inside and wait for the others. He was getting a headache from all the yelling and gunshots, anyways._   
  
  
          Medic smiled fondly at the memory. He looked over at Archimedes. He was sleeping in his cage, his head tucked under his wing. Medic chuckled at how cute his little assistant was. He turned on the tall lamp besides his desk and sketched out a small bird in a cage sleeping. This turned out to be a small Archimedes doodle. He tore it out from his book gently and inked it in pen. He then stuck it on the wall besides the cage gently as not to awake his feathered friend. That had successfully worn out the doctor, and he flicked off the light once more and curled up in bed. He drifted off to sleep with ease, only finding himself in another Heavy-centered dream. God, his homosexual thoughts were coming back to bite him in the ass, weren’t they?


End file.
